


Dreams, Images, and Visions

by pretzelduck



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, POV Alternating, Romance, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-06
Updated: 2014-07-06
Packaged: 2018-02-07 16:14:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1905504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pretzelduck/pseuds/pretzelduck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, it only takes one word to change everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Painful Dreaming

**Author's Note:**

> AN: Originally written in April 2003. Posted now for archive purposes.

***

How did I get to this point? As I stand next to him in the turbolift, I can't help but wonder about him. What would he do if I touched him? If I reached out and put my hand on his shoulder like he has a tendency to do to me. Would his eyes grow dark with hunger if I caressed his cheek? How would he react if I told him that at night, I belong to him? In my dreams, he is always there. And in them, he finds me irresistible as I find him and every time I say his name, he smiles at me like I am everything to him. Would he push me away with disgust and revulsion if I pulled him into my embrace?

Of course, he would. 

It's rather simple really. He is the captain of this ship. A man that any member of this crew would gladly die for. He exudes confidence, not only in himself but in his mission, the ship and those who serve aboard her. Like me. I have been, at various times, referred to as cold, aloof, anal, difficult, obsessive, and my personal favorite, enigmatic. How on Earth would a man like Jonathan Archer ever become attracted to me?

He wouldn't. And that is what is rather simple. There would be no reason or cause for it to happen. This still leaves my question. How did I get to this point? My heart seems to have steadfastly ignored the impossibility of it and allowed my affection for the man to grow. I can feel it in the oppressive air of this tiny lift. It surrounds me...consumes me and I cannot help but wonder if he notices. And now my imagination takes over once more. It plays out romantic scenarios that I can see with perfect clarity in my head. 

That's something I never experienced before. I've never wanted to woo someone before. I'm sure it would seem humorous to others if I told them about my occasional odd urge to serenade him while he sat in the captain's chair. Or of the impulse to sneak into his quarters and leave a rose on his desk. 

I suppose it's more than my attraction to him that consumes me. It's Jon himself. I can sense when he's looking at me. Every time we touch, the imprint of him remains for days. Until the next time, anyway.

I'm actually a little surprised he's not trying to carry on a conversation with me right now. Perhaps it's because it's the end of the day. I can feel the need for sleep creeping up on me. Or perhaps I've rebuffed him too many times. Like an invitation that is always rejected, it eventually stops being given. I've often contemplated a friendship with him. But I don't think I could bear it. Always wanting more, despite the fact that it would never be offered. Jon kept pushing me anyway but now, it appears that he has backed off that approach. 

A part of me is glad. With each question and each smile, it becomes harder and harder to keep him at a distance. I want him so much. Badly enough to want to snatch at the little I could have and damn the consequences to my heart. 

I feel a light pressure on my shoulder and I turn my head toward him at the sound of his voice.

"Are you all right, Malcolm? You looked like you were in another world."

Another world? How fitting. I was, in a way. For a moment, I was in my world that revolves around him. A dream world. Reality, on the other hand, is much different.

"Yes, sir."

He gives me that look I've seen numerous times before. It's a look of irritation crossed with one of disappointment. I've never understood the disappointment on his face. Irritation makes sense to me; irritating is something else I've been called, most notably by Commander Tucker. But why would he always look a bit disheartened?

I'm still thinking about possible reasons, of which I've found none, when the lift stops and the door opens to let him out. My quarters are on a different deck, something for which I'm grateful. If he was just down the corridor from me at night, I doubt I'd sleep much at all.

"Good night, Malcolm."

His voice derails my train of thought. I suppose I had better say something in reply, though.

"Good night, Jon."

The lift door closes and it continues upward. A little voice in the back of my head is nagging me. Something isn't quite right. But for the life of me, I don't know what. I suppose I just need some sleep. At least sleep will be peaceful. I'll dream of Jon and everything will be right again.

Jon. I called him Jon, didn't I? The last few moments replay themselves in my mind. I can hear my own disembodied voice telling him good night and using his name. How did I let that slip through my lips? Why did I pay so little attention to what I was saying? 

Once again, the lift stops and I exit, barely aware of my surroundings as I make my way toward my cabin door. I can breathe better once I'm inside in my quarters. In this room, there is no one to see me. Pain surges through my body. It burns where his hand touched my shoulder. A throbbing ache starts to pound inside my head. 

I called him Jon. To his face, when he could hear me. Undoubtedly heard me. Now he'll think that he's broken me somewhat, that I'm starting to relax. Doesn't he know that I've already broken? With one tender word, I'd fall into his arms and never leave. 

God damn him and his persistence. If he was on the verge of giving up before, now he'll return to his tactics, twice as strong and with a renewed vigor. He'll keep coming until I relent, accepting the offer of friendship and nothing more.

Any piece of energy I might have had seems to have been stripped away from me. My bed suddenly looks rather inviting. I don't bother to change out my uniform or get underneath the covers. Rolling to my side, I yank the pillow beside me and wrap my arms around it, as I always do. In my dreams, it's not the pillow I'm holding but Jon. I'm tucked against his side, my head resting not against the pillow but on his chest; his heartbeat lulling me to sleep. 

But tonight, I don't want to dream. I leave the lights on, hoping to keep the sandman away. I can't afford to dream of a Jon who cares for me. In reality, he wants to be my friend. I've settled before, I can do so again. I will be his friend. 

And perhaps later, when I've adjusted to that, I'll sleep with the lights off again. Perhaps I'll dream again. 

-fin-


	2. Sorrow's Imagination

***

I want to kiss him. A relatively simple statement of fact. I want to feel his lips on mine. That would be a statement of desire. I can almost taste him. My imagination fills in the details of my fantasy quite nicely. There would be a hint of spice, a remnant of the tea I've seen him drink. The kiss would be tentative; he would be afraid to let go and I would be scared I'd push him away.

That's what it all comes down to, isn't it? I don't want to push him away. Every clipped reply and every rejected conversation shatter my heart into a thousand pieces. But I can't stop. It's like I have selective amnesia where he's concerned. I ask a question, he keeps his distance but the next day, I do it over again. He's under my skin; he's everywhere I go. I see him passing me in the corridor, giving me a little nod and if I'm lucky, a smile. He's in the dining room; no matter if he really is or not. Whenever I eat, he's in the chair beside me, looking adorably puzzled at my mention of the World Cup.

And now Malcolm is next to me in the turbolift. He's really there. I'm not imagining him this time. We're alone. A situation that I usually crave and strive for but my thoughts are wandering tonight. 

Their destination? The man next to me, of course. I want to know what he's thinking about. No matter how trivial or mundane he feels his thoughts are, each one shared is like a treasure to me. Probably comes from their rarity. But somehow I doubt that. Even if there was a snowball in Hell and we became close, I think that Malcolm's thoughts would still be precious to me. 

Like whatever he's thinking about right now. His eyes are unfocused; they're just staring at the wall of the lift. It's almost like he's daydreaming. The expression on his face doesn't give a single hint about what his imaginings might be until the corner of his mouth starts to curve in a little smile. Why can't it be me who makes him smile like that?

Never mind. I know the answer. He's Malcolm. And I'm the captain. That's seems to be how he defines me, anyway, as a rank and position rather than a man. He couldn't possibly ever want me if he doesn't even see me as...me. Jon instead captain or even worse, sir.

Sir. If there is a more agonizing word in the English language, I don't want to hear it. It's the very epitome of what crushes every impossible dream I have about Malcolm. It represents his upbringing, raised with propriety at the forefront of his mind. It represents our difference in rank. I'm his superior. The regulations regarding a relationship between a superior and a subordinate are hazy, at best. And perhaps the most difficult to deal with, it represents Malcolm's defenses. He keeps everyone at a distance; maybe me most of all. 

I've done everything I can think of to breach those walls of his. I've tried breakfast with him but he refused to relax. I've begged an alien general to spare his life but he admonished me. I've taken into serious account his thoughts on improving security no matter how overly cautious I think they might be. But nothing has worked. I'm still sir.

God damn him and his persistence. Why can't he see how much it hurts every time he pushes me away? If he would just bend...all it would take was a little...I'd have a chance at convincing him to see me differently. A little different view and maybe, just maybe, he might want me too. 

I steal a glance only to notice the lost look on his face. He looks so vulnerable; it's like he's just realized that something important to him is missing. I want more than anything to pull him into my arms. Hoping that he might find whatever is lost in our closeness. 

But I can't. So I settle for touching him on his shoulder. 

"Are you all right, Malcolm? You looked like you were in another world."

I love the pulse of electricity that flies through me when we touch but I hate the coldness that follows when I pull my hand away. My fingers become frozen, only the warmth of Malcolm could possibly heat them again. A warmth, I doubt I will ever have the pleasure of knowing.

"Yes, sir."

There it is. Why won't it just go away? Sir. Is it such an evil thing to tell me something...or even anything about why he looked like that? 

The lift comes to a stop at my deck. I turn toward him and give him the most inoffensive smile I can. I don't think it matters, though. He still looks like he's spacing out.

"Good night, Malcolm."

I'm almost entirely out in the corridor when I catch his reply.

"Good night, Jon."

The door closes and I place my hands against it, to steady myself. Jon. He called me Jon. It seems like I'm dreaming. That's the only place I've heard Malcolm say my name.

Until now. My mind repeats the short sentence over and over again. 'Good night, Jon.' My imagination twists it and suddenly, I'm the one who's daydreaming. We're spooned together in my bed; our bodies molding to each other perfectly. My hands are caressing every part of that gorgeously lean and muscular body. His hair tickles my nose but I like the feeling of having him so close. He whispers 'Good night, Jon' as we drift off to sleep together. 

But it's just a dream. A daydream I'm having out in the hallway. I pull myself away from the support of the door and walk down toward my quarters, doing my best to look captain-like rather than like a man whose life has been given a new purpose. One of hope...with hope. The possibility of hearing Malcolm say my name again and again is almost overwhelming. The possibilities are endless, really. What if he could be mine?

When I finally get inside my own cabin, I set free the huge grin I've been trying to keep hide. I have to share my news and who else better to share with than the one who already hears all about my attraction to Malcolm anyway...

"Guess what, Porthos?" Unsurprisingly, he doesn't even bother getting up from his bed. He does look up, though. It's probably the childish excitement in my voice.

"Malcolm called me Jon. Isn't that amazing?" Porthos just looks at me. I guess if I'm not saying something about cheese, he doesn't care.

But I do. If he called me Jon, then that means he just doesn't think about me as a rank. Doesn't it? It has to. I have this sudden insane itch to go running up and down the halls of Enterprise telling anyone I pass about what happened. Okay, so maybe it wouldn't be as big of a deal to anyone but me...

What about him? I'm forgetting about Malcolm. Did he even realize what he said? Usually he is very alert but tonight he wasn't. Maybe it was just a subconscious thing. But why would Malcolm's subconscious be calling me Jon? 

There has to be a reason. I have to be able to explain it somehow. It could be his way of getting me to leave him alone. That makes sense. If he calls me Jon, then maybe he thinks I'll stop asking him questions or trying to socializing with him. That if I think I've achieved my goal, I'll back off. He seems to think in strategy and tactics, so it is a possibility. One that tests my ability to keep my stomach down.

Does he really want to maintain distance between us that much? Enough to do something like that. Something that raises my hopes so much. The very thought hurts; it makes my whole body shake slightly with repressed anger and frustration.

"What do you think, boy?" 

Porthos actually decides to get up and trots over to my feet. Bending down, I run my hand along his fur. The simple motion calms my raging emotions a little. Sometimes I wonder what I would do without him.

"What do you think Malcolm wants?"

All of a sudden, Porthos jumps up and gives me a slobbery dog kiss right on the mouth. I push him away gently and stand up, wiping the drool off my face with my sleeve. 

"That doesn't help, Porthos. I doubt what Malcolm wants is a kiss."

A kiss. Not a dog kiss but a human kiss. A kiss from me. Another dream invades my mind and I close my eyes to fight the fierceness of it. We're facing each other; he's in my arms, pressed tightly against my body. One of his hands is entangled in my hair while the other is resting softly on my back. The fire burning in those gray eyes of his is tempered by the loving smile on his lips. He leans toward me and that smile disappears as his lips touch mine. The kiss isn't tentative nor is it desperate. The tenderness I feel is nothing compared to that I feel from him. It's a feeling borne of trust and intimacy. He pulls away and that smile returns. Malcolm's hand stops running through my hair and begins to lightly trace the outline of my lips with its fingertips. I reach out to touch him in return and there's nothing there.

I open my eyes. Nothing. A dream. Just a dream. I've got to get some sleep. That's when a person is supposed to dream. That's when these fantasies about Malcolm are supposed to come out. Of course, I can't touch him. He can touch me, though. Deeply. But I can't touch him. He won't let me. 

Exhaustion strikes me without warning. I can't seem to keep my eyes open. Malcolm's managed to wear me out. Lying down on my bed, I quickly realize that I still have my uniform on but I don't have the energy to get back up and take it off. I grab a pillow and pull it close to me so I'm hugging it. 

The lights. I reach up and my quarters become dark. It's easier this way. In the dark, I let my imagination take over. The pillow is transformed into Malcolm. This way it's him I'm holding tight, just like in my daydreams. I run my hand along his side, feeling not the fabric but his smooth and sensitive skin. I can feel myself smiling as it quivers at my touch.

In the dark, I don't feel the difference between my pillow and my Malcolm. But my heart does. Oh, how it does. 

 

-fin-


	3. Convergence of Visions

***

A slight movement and the feel of the mattress dipping is enough to rouse me out of my daze. I'm not concerned, just relieved. He's been working too hard lately, pulling long hours like tonight. I'm also a bit selfishly glad. I'm exhausted but I can't really sleep without him. Not anymore.

"There you are, Malcolm. I was getting worried." His warm body crawls underneath the covers and snuggles close to me. 

"I couldn't leave until the recalibrations held. It wasn't my intention to worry you, though..." Malcolm props himself up with one arm while his free hand starts to trace patterns across my chest. "...I think an apology is in order."

That wandering hand starts to move lower when Porthos chooses this time to bark. The sound startles me slightly but I decide to ignore him and turn my attentions back to Malcolm...

He's gone. "Malcolm?"

I reach out wildly. Where did he go? The softness of a pillow is all I encounter.

"Malcolm?" Why did he just disappear? What did I do to push him away? I'm always careful about that. I couldn't stand it if I lost him.

If I lost him... I never had him. It was a dream, wasn't it? I was dreaming. The pillow is the same one I held close as I tried to sleep earlier tonight. My bed is empty because he's never been in it. 

Everything is too empty. My bed, my quarters, my arms...my heart. They're too empty. I'm exhausted but apparently, I'm not meant to sleep. The only thing that can fill this hole in my night is somewhere else on this ship. Malcolm is probably asleep by now. Wrapped up in his own sheets, in his own bed. It isn't where he belongs, though. No, he should be here with me. 

And he was...in my dreams, anyway. Getting up, I switch on the lights and move so I'm sitting on the edge of my bed. After my eyes adjust to the light, I look over at Porthos and notice he's awake and staring at me.

"Was there any particular reason you felt the need to bark right then?"

I don't know why I even expect him to answer. I wish he hadn't woken me up. The only place where I can be with Malcolm is my dreams. 

It's difficult for me to understand how I can miss something that I've never had. How can I miss someone so much when I don't even know if they...he thinks of me as a person?

But I think does. His words as I left the turbolift tonight are as clear in my head now as they were when he said them.

'Good night, Jon.'

The simple sentence starts to repeat over and over again in my mind. Why does it do this? This is how I start fantasizing about him. I can't start doing this again. I need to sleep. I need to rest.

I'm not going to rest until I know, am I? Nope. Without knowing Malcolm's side of the story, I can't possibly know if it's safe to sleep. If I sleep, I'll dream of him. I have to know if those dreams have hope. 

I'm on my feet before I realize it. What am I doing? What if I wake him up? I take a glance at the time. 23:31. He could still be awake. It's a possibility.

One foot and then the other until I'm standing in front of my door. I can do this. I have to do this. It's for Malcolm. It's for the right to dream about him. With that thought firmly planted in my mind, I leave my quarters and head down the hallway.

I have no idea what I'll say to him. 'I know it's late but I have this serious thing for you and you called me Jon so I need to know what you think of me so I can feel better about dreaming about making love to you at night.' That definitely doesn't sound right. Truthful but not a good idea. 

Let's see, what else could I say.... 'I'm sorry to disturb you, Malcolm. Porthos woke me up from my dream about you so I decided to come down and talk to the real thing instead.' That doesn't have a good ring to it, either...

Whoa. I'm at Malcolm's door. How did I get here so fast? How did I get here without noticing? 

I place my finger on the door chime. There's no way I'm chickening out now. I doubt I'll work up this much courage again for a long time. My eyes close briefly as I press down on the button.

I wait. And I wait. He's probably sleeping. My fingers hover over the button, daring me to press it one more time. I'm staring at my own hand so I don't even notice the door slide open. But I do notice Malcolm. 

He's still in his uniform. It's rumpled, like he was sleeping in it. I let my gaze travel upwards, noticing the bright lights of his quarters are on behind him. I reach his face and my heart both jumps and breaks at the sight. Those impossible to breach defenses of his are nowhere to be found. That lost and vulnerable look I saw on his face in the turbolift is there. I can't believe what I'm seeing... that I'm seeing it at all. But at the same time, my heart aches seeing him look like this. 

We're just staring at each other. He's probably trying to figure out what his captain is doing coming to his quarters at the middle of the night. I still have no idea what to say to him. Cautiously, I take a step forward into his inner sanctum. Malcolm doesn't move so we're closer; our personal spaces tangling with each other. 

He's only inches from me. Malcolm looks as worn out as I feel and by his appearance, I'd say that sleep has evaded him, too. Behind the vulnerability, I see skepticism; he doesn't trust his senses.

But mine are on overload. My heart is pounding so hard in my chest that it hurts. My hands are twitching, begging to pull him close like I wanted to earlier. To maybe help that lost look fade away. 

Suddenly, every scrap of control that I have ever possessed when it comes to Malcolm is gone like it never existed at all. With one fluid motion, I surrender to my dreams. My hands, instead of pulling him into an embrace, are on either side of his face and I'm pulling his head toward me. I don't even hesitate. I should be stopping; I should be thinking. But I'm not. 

I bow my head slightly and finally...after all this time... I finally taste him as my lips touch his. Something inside of me starts to sing with absolute and undeniable joy. I think it's my soul. 

And then, at that moment of contact, just as suddenly as it disappeared, my control is back and I realize exactly what I'm doing. I'm kissing Malcolm. Oh, god...what have I done? It doesn't matter how right this feels or how much I just want to melt into him. This is Malcolm. What is he going to think of all this? I still don't know how he thinks of me...

The feel of soft skin against my cheek stops that line of thought dead cold. That's Malcolm's hand. But it's the next sensation that truly changes everything. Gently...barely...there's a responding pressure against my lips.

Malcolm is kissing me back.

***

I swear I am never sleeping again. There won't be another dream that could possibly compare to this one. Everything is incredibly real. The look on his face, the touch of his lips against mine, the gentle strength in the hands on my cheeks. 

I'd left the light on to keep the dreams away but this one snuck through anyway. It's like Jon in that way. No matter the defense, it fully intends to prevail. One of my dream Jon's hands slides backward and his fingers run through my hair. He's letting go a little at a time. There's slowly more and more passion in his kiss, as he reveals layer after layer of it to me. This is what a first kiss should be. If only this was real...

But it isn't. I know that but I can't resist the real Jon so I don't stand a chance against the amorous dream one. I press into him; the need to be closer consuming me. Shifting positions, I slip my arms around his shoulders and pull him tighter, never breaking the kiss. As soon as I do so, his other hand drops from my face and moves to my back, caressing it through the fabric of my uniform. 

My uniform? That's right...I'd worn it to bed because I didn't bother to change. All I'd done was curl up on top of my bed with my pillow and tried to get some sleep. 

Sleep...

I hadn't fallen asleep yet. This isn't a dream. This is reality. Captain Jonathan Archer is really kissing me. The thought hits me with a frightening virulence. Just as violently, I rip myself out of his arms and flee to the other side of my cabin. I resist the urge to cross my arms over my chest as I feel my entire body shaking. Why in the world would he come to my quarters in the middle of the night and kiss me? 

I look up at him and my trembling gets worse at the jumble of emotions I see in his eyes. I can't name them or describe them. I just want to know what he's doing here.

"Captain?"

The agony that flashes across his face at the word is almost unbelievable. I never would have imagined that he could look so heartbroken but I also never would have imagined him kissing me, either.

"I'm sorry, Malcolm." I can barely hear him. His voice is full of a tangible sadness. I watch his eyes and face, trying to understand what he's thinking. Why would he kiss me? "I put you in an inappropriate position."

An inappropriate position? I want him so badly that he fills my dreams. I'm the one who has inappropriate thoughts about a fellow officer. A man who just kissed me. Oh, God. Could he? It isn't possible. Why would he want me?

"It won't happen again." 

He's leaving. Jon is going to walk out my door and I know without a doubt that I will never hold him in my arms again. Unless I do something. I can't let him leave. I have to let him know.

"Yes, it will." His movement stops and he looks directly into my eyes. The pain that is so evident in his expression is quickly hidden from my view. All that anguish because of me. It gives me hope, though. He could truly care for me.

"Malcolm?"

I cross the room in two swift strides and before I can second-guess myself, I wrap my arms around him, pull him up against me, and capture his mouth with mine. 

I think I've startled him; he's frozen, unmoving. It's all right, though. I have something to prove. Bringing one hand up, I run my fingers along his jaw. There's a hint of stubble underneath my caressing fingers. With each stroke, I put more into the kiss. More passion, more confidence. He's still not moving.

Reluctantly, I stop kissing him. I lean into him slightly and put my mouth next to his ear. The games of seduction are something I've never been good at. But I do my best to convey the desire and longing that are coursing through my blood in the words I whisper in his ear.

"I thought you were another dream." There's more I want to say but I don't know if I can. It's a weakness, revealing fears. But I think he needs to hear them. "I didn't think that you could..."

The rest of the sentence dies a quick death as I'm suddenly crushed against him. He's holding me so tightly that I both hear and feel his ragged breathing. Everywhere. That's the only way to describe it. He's everywhere. His hands are on my back, my arms, and my shoulders. He touches me everywhere, assuring me with his motions that he truly is real. I really am in his arms.

***

He didn't think that I could what? That I could care for him? I think that's what he means. He said he thought I was another dream. Another. All this time, he's been dreaming about me. I can see his heartbeat in his neck; the veins pulsing under his skin harder and harder. Unable to resist, I place a light kiss on that neck, feeling his arms tighten their hold on me at the touch. 

"I do, Malcolm. You mean so much to me. Personally." He laughs. I confess my feelings to him and he laughs? I can feel the rumble in his chest through our embrace. Malcolm's head tilts up and he looks at me, still chuckling. 

"I gathered that last part, Jon." My name. Any anger that might have been emerging hastily disappears at the sound. I suppose the 'personally' part was obvious but I still needed to say it. A soft smile appears on Malcolm's face. "I care about you, too." Another little snicker. "Personally."

"Are you always going to make fun of me?" Whoa. Where did that 'always' come from? I wait to feel the body in my arms stiffen. Leave it to me to jump from confessions to a mutual attraction right to 'always.' But Malcolm doesn't recoil. Instead, his smile becomes a little bigger.

"Only when an opportunity presents itself." 

"I can hardly wait."

I laugh with him this time. It feels like that moment when I return to my quarters after a long day. I'm at peace because I'm home. And he looks the same. Relaxed and content. I bring one of my roaming hands up to cup the side of his face and cover those grinning lips with my own. 

This kiss is different than the first two. I know how he feels. He knows how I feel. The desire we kept under control earlier is carefully released. It appears I'm not the only one afraid of pushing too far, too fast. His mouth opens slightly underneath mine and I take it as the invitation I hope it is, slipping my tongue between his lips. He tastes...he tastes like the Malcolm in my dreams. Only better. He really is mine. A muffled moan escapes me at that thought and Malcolm's hand, which I didn't realize was in my hair, pulls my head closer. His tongue is battling mine, now. 

The assault sends a jolt throughout my body and I break our kiss, knowing if we don't stop now, I won't be able to stop at all. And I don't want him to think this is just about the physical. Remembering the way he looked before, lost and defenseless, I adjust him so his head is resting on my shoulder as we both try to regain our breaths.

"Malcolm, I..."

"I understand." He does? I didn't even finish my thought. Hell, I barely started it. How does he know what I was going to say?

"I just don't want you to think that I don't want you. I do. It's just that I don't want to move too fast..."

His head comes up from its place on my shoulder and while those gray eyes stare into mine, his thumb brushes across my lips, silencing me. His touch is so soft; a glaring counterpoint to the almost cold persona he seems to show the world.

"I know. I can feel how you feel." His eyes drop away from mine and his voice becomes quieter. "I barely believe it but I can feel it."

I've had this thought before but now it returns with a vengeance. One day, I'm going to hunt down every person who's ever hurt Malcolm...made him think that he always has to be in control...and introduce them to one of his beloved phase pistols. But he doesn't have to worry anymore. I'll protect him from the universe. I'll watch his back so he can just be for once. Now that Malcolm is in my arms, I'll show him the joy in letting go. And I won't hurt him. Ever.

"Believe it, Malcolm. Please..." He meets my eyes once more. The smile is back as he reaches out and takes one of my hands in his. He pulls our joined hands to his lips and tenderly kisses the back of my hand.

All right. I might as well melt into a puddle right now. Romantic Malcolm? Irresistible. Completely and totally irresistible. 

"Jon, I've wanted you for a long time. I might have a difficult time accepting that you feel the same way but..." He kisses the back of my hand again and my feet have officially reverted to liquid form. "...I promise to..." The most amazing blush starts to appear on his cheeks. Oooo. I like that. "...ask for a reminder whenever I need one."

Oh. Wow. I'm speechless. I don't have the words. My vocabulary is non-existent. But he seems to understand what I'm feeling anyway. Releasing my hand, he settles back against me with his head once again resting on my shoulder. I wrap my arms around him, making a silent promise to myself to never make him doubt my affections. We stand like that for the longest time until he pulls away slowly.

"I don't want to be rude but we both have to work in the morning..."

Ugh. He's right. I wonder if anyone would notice if Malcolm and I didn't show up on the bridge at the beginning of our shifts. Probably. Damn.

"Yeah, I know." I pull away as well. It's the first time in a little while tonight that we haven't been touching. I miss it already. But I barely have time to do because he's back, giving me a peck on the lips.

"I'll see you on the bridge tomorrow."

All of a sudden, I'm the scared one. On the bridge. What if he refuses to acknowledge me after this? What if he found the release he needed? What if, after tonight, I'm not his Jon anymore? 

"Yeah, on the bridge." Somehow he reads the fear in my voice. I know because his hand is caressing my face again.

"I might call you 'sir' but it will be *me* that you'll see. And I'll see you, Jon."

I know now, don't I? I know exactly how he thinks of me. I know full well that when I go back to my cabin, I'll sleep and wake up rested and refreshed. To him, I'm Jon. He didn't say it because he wanted to push me away. He called me Jon in that turbolift because he wants me. Period. I grin at him, unable to keep the bliss I feel inside. He smiles back as his hand returns to his side. 

"Good night, Malcolm."

"Good night, Jon."

I turn away from him and open the door. As I step out into the hallway, I can't resist a last glance back at him. Malcolm is still smiling. I made him smile. The door closes and I set out for my own quarters. A thought occurs to me and I start to chuckle like Malcolm did earlier. 

Porthos was right. What Malcolm really wanted was a kiss. Well, he got several. He'll just have to learn how to deal.

***

I watch him leave my quarters with a smile on my face. It seems I was wrong. I sit down on my bed and take off my shoes and socks. The rest of my uniform soon follows until I'm in my boxers. Placing my dirty clothes in the laundry, the smile on my face just gets wider. I was definitely wrong. 

I pull the cover and sheets back and crawl into bed. Jon didn't want me to be his friend. I put the pillow back behind my head. I don't need to curl up against it. It doesn't compare to the real thing, anyway. And I should know. Jon wanted me to be something more. I have no problem obliging him, too. 

Reaching up, I turn off the lights. It would be nice to dream tonight. After all, as I've recently learned, dreams can turn into reality. And reality is bloody lovely.

"Good night, Jon." 

 

-fin-


End file.
